Waxing poetic on thoughts, theory & the times
Heavy clouds open their veil,
A thundering of droplets
Beat the ground,
And the dirt beneath the grass drinks eagerly
Wind sails past,
uninhibited by the wetness,
No, it conducts the rain;
A symphony,
Welcome in this April month,
With sounds that will calm,
Slow,
And lull
Busy living beings
To rest.
https://youtube.com/shorts/y9Xvbq0P0DQ?feature=share
These are thoughts
Long sealed in
For fear they drive away
A friend.
I do not confide how their presence
Sets the soul at ease;
Why keep such a blessing to the self then?
Love is not just passion,
hearts and roses,
Love,
Was once upon a time
Hijacked
By wedding planners, Hallmark, Victoria’s Secret And Kay’s,
So thus we forget,
Or never learn
That even romance
Should start with a friend;
A friend
–perhaps it is thus why we tiptoe
Around showing these trusted,
Beloved companions and confidants,
friends,
Our Love.
May we be wise
And remember,
Only a friend
Can truly appreciate
A friend’s Love.
You,
Something happened to you
That you don’t want to touch
Don’t want to ponder,
Because it hurt.
The wound memory remains;
A scar,
Tender,
Real,
Still part of you,
Be tempted to feel it,
This reshaped you,
To know
And accept that the past happened,
And you are not who you were before
You were injured,
But you are so much more,
You are a living work of art
a soul vessel
Being modeled and molded still,
Your cracks repaired with healing gold,
And
Your light glows through
Where that won’t hold;
Beautiful
As you are.
I hear the moth tangled in the lamp
And the clock’s tick tick
Metronome,
And I am left with stray thoughts
Looking for a home,
Trying to delineate
Where things stand,
And how we do
This dance,
Never giving it a name,
And more interestingly,
How we already simultaneously know
The steps.
I do not fall easily,
But I fall hard,
I commit myself
To a hand,
Based on
possibility
And knowing
When
There is an inner goodness
Pulsing through with radiant beauty
That my own senses have perceived,
Thus, I am not who I was
Before,
–Back then eager, heart merely pure
with naiveté,
Now matured
My heart recognizes,
And knows to banish the love con,
For my Iove is still true,
Loyal,
And my loving worthy of one
who can truly love
Me;
May my good heart not be fooled
Again,
By a love vandal.
*reflection on recent local windstorms and the aftermath
Sometimes, the wind blows
With a force
That makes even the seasoned Oak quiver,
And the malleable Willow seize,
At times, it makes us remember,
Despite technologies, tools,
Advancements,
Configured and utilized
By living beings,
We are still that
–Living, mortal beings,
Miniature vessels
Of this infinite infinity,
And to the wind
the tree bows
And as do we.
With heads lowered,
Hidden from us all,
On an even smaller scale
A seed sprouts;
All present feel, know,
And are humbled by
The life shaping power
Of sacred breath
She of Letters 